


Five Times Sam Winchester Felt Starstruck and One Time Dean Felt it, Too

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Big Brother Dean, Dramatic Theater References, Fluffy Ending, Gen, If you only read one work by me, M/M, Musical References, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Stanford, Queer!Sam, Theater Geek!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surrounded by it all his life, Sam just wants this one time to be normal. Dean can only do what he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Orphan Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic before Thanksgiving and it's finally finished. I'm really proud of this. Please be kind to it.

Chapter 1: Little Orphan Sammy

**December, 1989**

“C’mon, little Orphan Annie! We’ve got school.”

Dean ruffled Sam’s chestnut brown hair as he sprinted past him. He swung one arm of his backpack around his shoulder and picked the spare articles of clothing from the ground. Sam smirked from his bowl of soggy Captain Crunch, but gave his brother an incredulous look.

“Who’s Annie?”

“It’s from a movie, Sam. In fact, you’re going to be her if you don’t go put on your coat in the next five seconds. We’re gonna miss the bus!”

Dean slithered passed him. He was rather wiry from yet another insufficient night of sleep and wanted nothing more than to get Sammy to class on time and if they’d missed the bus, the unanswered call from home would not go unnoticed.

“You done?” The seven year old took a final slurp of milk and let his brother take the bowl from him. He grabbed his jacket from the bedroom and put on his mittens. However, as he suited up for the bitter cold of mid-December weather, he heard his brother’s soft tenor singing from the small kitchenette, mumbled from the running water of dishes.

“ _It’s a hard-knock life for us, it’s a hard-knock life for us, ‘steada treated, we get tricked, ‘stead of kisses, we get kicked, it’s a hard-knock life…_ ”

As they caught the city bus, Sam repeated the tune in his head several times. He had watched movies before with singing in it, but those were always the holiday specials they would sometimes catch between hunts at Uncle Bobby’s. He could tell that this was something different. It was a hard-knock life for them. This was a song that they could relate to and he was sure as hell that that wouldn’t have come from a Christmas special.

\---

That night Sam asked Dean if they could watch Annie.

“It’s a chick flick, Sammy. You wouldn’t like it.”


	2. Paying it Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's given a new lease on life.

**May, 1996**

Being thirteen is hard as it is, but Sam Winchester was no regular thirteen year old. Finally understanding what where Dad would go, he gave up a portion of his life trying to learn the trade. The family business was hard and the more and the more he learned about it, the more and more he became very cautious. Adding schoolwork to the top was just the icing on the cake.

It was a late Thursday night when his brother slumped through the door of their motel. He reeked of alcohol which Sam was unsure how he got a hold of, seeing as he wasn’t of legal drinking age in New York. He didn’t like it when he drank. It reminded him too much of his father, but when Dean slurred over that he had a surprise for him, he became intrigued.

“I’m sooo good at pool! I won these tickets to this stupid play. Sammy, d-do you want ‘em? Because I won these tickets for this play, see? Did you want ‘em? Huh, Sammy?”

Sam cringed as Dean dug into his pockets and forced the folded pieces of thick paper on his chest. He took it and placed it in textbook and used them as a bookmark as he wrapped an arm around his brother and led him to his bed.

“Yes, Dean. You’re very good at pool. Thank you for the tickets, but now it’s time for you to go to bed.”

He removed the boots from his brother’s feet, trying to avoid the kicks of refusal. He wrapped a blanket around him and tucked him like Dean did when he was little. He got him a glass of water and two aspirins for the morning.

“You know Dad would despise you if he saw you like this.” But, Dean was already snoozing away, sprawled out on his stomach and a foot dangling off.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said patting his shoulder.

The tickets.

Sam placed the water and medication on his nightstand and went straight to his Algebra I book and took out the tickets to read.

Tickets to a play?

“Rent? Huh… Wait, these are Broadway!”

As far as Sam was concerned, plays weren’t really his thing. He thought of them as chick flicks, just like Dean had said, but all the different schools had taught him one thing. Broadway tickets were expensive.

Damn, Dean _was_ good.

\---

Dean was hungover for most of the day and Sam knew better than to mess with him, but Rent was tonight and he was excited to be in New York City for the first time since they arrived. He didn’t like the tight space in between people and subways were just unsanitary, but this was the thrill of it. He wanted to unleash his curiosity.

At night, it was no better. In fact, the streets were more packed, especially outside of the theater. He waited in line for long time and honestly, he started to question whether or not it was worth it to even come out on a Thursday night when he had school tomorrow. He hoped Dad hadn’t checked in tonight, but when does he even check in at all anymore. Not unless he needed something.

Tonight, Sam needed this, a break from unbalanced life to just sit back and enjoy the show. He took his seat in the back of the theater. Yes, they were shit seats, but at least he wasn’t in the nosebleeds.

The lights went down and naturally, Sam’s anxiety level shot through the roof, but as soon as the stage lights rose and the pit started playing, he eased up and listened in.

“Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred moments so dear…”

Chick flick.

However, as Sammy rose to leave, a guard gestured for him to sit, stuck for the first act out of two. But Sam found that he soon wanted to stay.

He realized by the second number that this was no regular musical. Him and Dean often wondered how they were going to pay for the rent on several occasions and the abstract way it was presented was way cooler than the Shakespeare plays he watched in class.

In a way, he started to identify with Mark and watch his brother as Roger and for the first time in what seemed like a while, he didn’t think about anything, but himself. Sam thought about how he could be in this musical. The only time that he sang was in the shower when he knew Dean wouldn’t be home to hear him, but this made him feel like he could teach himself to sing and dance like there wasn’t anyone watching. By doing that, he could be like most of the characters from Rent and give the middle finger to Benny and conformity and the hunts and the schoolwork and the work and growing up. He could “act up, fight AIDS” and dance on tables and shout, “La Vie Boheme!” anywhere he went. He could transcend to whatever he felt like doing or who he felt like being. Angel was the optime of being who she wanted to be and Sam envied that. At thirteen, he was still trying to find that and at this rate, he knew it would be put on the back burner, but now, he could do anything.

When the lights went up for intermission, Sam was in complete awe. He sat there for several seconds, pondering to himself. Then he realized what all first-timers do during intermission.

“Holy shit, I need to pee.”

The second act was, to say the least, sad. Angel’s death not only traumatized him, but sent him to tears. In public. With people next to him. The amazing thing was he was not the only one. Sam found it funny that all the people he came to love, who made him feel worth something, died. It made him scared for the future, too, but he would never tell anyone this. Not even Dean. Especially not even Dean. He would never tell Dean about any of the feelings he felt that night. He would not tell him a single sentence about how he wanted to reunite like Mark and Roger, how he wanted the beauty of Mimi, how he wanted to be as sassy as Maureen and organized as Joanne, or be as devoted as Collins even after his lover had died and as expressive and self-aware as Angel even in the afterlife. He wouldn’t say a word to anyone, but himself.

As the finale came to end and the curtain opened back up for bows, Sam instantly stood up. He remembered that this was what a standing ovation was and this cast deserved it all. It wasn’t until the woman next to him slipped him a tissue that he even noticed that he was crying again. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was even holding and made his way towards the exit.

He loved this, and if getting tickets to Broadway shows meant that he had to nurse Dean’s hangover the next morning, then he wouldn’t mind.

He wouldn’t mind at all.


	3. Hunting Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds a hunter's Achilles heel. Dean finds the hunter’s head.

March, 1997

Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t able to see a show again for awhile. 

Fortunately, Dad finally did him one better. He met an actor.   
\---  
The thing about hunters is that you never know what you are going to get once you make an alliance. 

When John opened the driver’s door to give a firm handshake to the tall man waiting outside of the wood cabin, Sam and Dean didn’t exactly think about this being anybody in particular. The handshake meant that they were friends and any friend of John Winchester was a friend of his boys, too. 

“Boys, this is Walt Clifford.” A tall, hispanic man with thick eyebrows and deep brown eyes that almost could be mistaken for a human/demon crossbreed extended a calloused hand out which each son took firmly. “We should be back by Monday. You need anything, call him. We’ve got a shapeshifter that’s too smart for its own good. Dean, you know the drill. Take care of Sammy.”

Dean gave a stiff nod, solder-like.

“Refrigerators stocked, but be modest, please.” Each of them taken back by the hunter’s accent. It sounded thick, but was held high with dignity, a swift roll of his r’s in “refrigerator and if they didn’t know any better, they’d label it as coming out a little more sexy and smooth than need be. 

Sam liked it. 

Quickly, the boys made their routine. The youngest started making the beds up while Dean started on lunch for the two of them. The cabin wasn’t the worst place they’ve ever stayed, but it wasn’t the greatest either. The fridge was stocked and there was cable which was nice, but the wood was filled with rot and left a distinct smell of what could have been mold. Trying to ignore it, Dean set down a plate filled with a peanut butter and banana sandwich in front of his brother who was writing in his stolen workbook from the last school he was enrolled in and his own bag of chips on the couch and flipped on the television. There was a silent moment of contentment. There was peace. 

The peace lasted about two days. 

Sunday afternoon, Dean was helping Sam study the skeletal system. He thought the flashcards were kind of cool. They were easy if you wanted to cheat, but they also helped Sammy and that’s all Dean wanted to do. They were halfway through the different types of metacarpals when John rushed in, demanding that the boys help him barricade the door. Together, they resalted the windows and laid down more traps. 

“Damn that Clifford!”

“What happened,” questioned Dean. 

“You shoot first, ask questions later! You’ve got a shapeshifter on your ass, don’t ask it what it wants! Be smart about these things! Basic rules, Dean! I could have taken my own sons into this hunt and we’d been fine! Damn pansy! He can rot where he is. Don’t you boys let anybody into the house, you hear me?!” 

Simultaneous, vigorous nods. 

“Good. Now, have you boys eaten? I’m starving.” 

Dinner together was a rare occurrence, but it was better now that their father was there with them. They talked very little, but any conversation was an improvement. Afterwards, they had helped Sam study with flashcards again, turning it into a competition between the two sons, but as always, good things come to an end. “I wished you study liked this for hunting, Sam. You’d’ve got a real sharp eye by now.” John got a beer and it was decided that that was all the family he could take for the night. 

Dean went to bed, but Sam stayed up a little while, just looking up at the ceiling. Later on, still fully awake, Sam leapt up from his bed and peered out into the living room. John was asleep on couch, face up and mouth fully agape. This gave Sam the chance to go outside. He salted the door from the outside just in case and left to explore.

On day one of peace, he found the shed. Obviously it wasn’t a natural shed. It was filled with more lore books and the occasional gun rack here and there. It was cold and hard, but it was distant and that’s all Sam needed. However as he rifled through the drawers, he found something that he hadn’t before. 

He found a false drawer. Popping it open, he expected maybe a few copies of Busty Asian Beauties. Isn’t that what everyone would hide? Dean always did. But, no. Sam found fliers, paybills, DVDs and headshots. 

“What the hell is this stuff?” 

West Side Story merchandise mostly. He identified the actor immediately. After all, he’d know those eyebrows anywhere. Walt Clifford, an actor turned hunter? He questioned why anybody would leave such a prestigious job to do be someone who put their lives online every day. Then he remembered why his father did. Oh. 

Sam didn’t know much about the show itself, but he knew from school that it was like Romeo and Juliet. Totally a chick flick, but here he was sort of upset that he hadn’t seen it. He held a polaroid picture that was half burned. Walt with another young hispanic girl wearing a long purple ruffled dress were dancing on stage with a beautiful set of a night sky from a rooftop. It looked very professional and seeing from the picture, only fueled Sam’s desire to see it live. He picked up the DVD and read the back of it. The Sharks were led by Walt’s character, a gang of immigrants from Puerto Rico. He had a couple of solos, too, which if Dad wasn’t there, Sam would take back and watch the whole thing. He would’ve loved to listen to his accent drawl out of his mouth. He wanted to hear it sizzle as he sang. He wanted to make him feel hot and heavy and--

“I know, Sam.” The man himself was standing at the door of the shed. “Those were good days. Nice to see somebody appreciate my filmography.” 

Walt? It couldn’t be. Shapeshifter. Quick thinking, Sam, quick thinking. Shoot first, ask questions later. C’mon, Sammy. The machete on the rack across the room was the first thing he saw. He crept towards the rack, distancing himself false drawer. “I didn’t mean to be snooping, Mr. Clifford. I couldn’t sleep and just decided that--” 

“You’d come and hunt through my belongs. My, you are John Winchester’s son.” 

He lunged at the boy. It would be so much easier with Sam’s meatsuit to take what he wanted. No one ever suspects the kid. 

Luckily, Sam was faster. He swung a fist clear across Walt’s face, launching him towards the floor and ran towards the wall with the equipment only to be tripped by a hand to the ankle, dragging him down the floor. The shapeshifter had him pinned to the ground, only to be kicked in the gut by the kid. They switched positions. Not wanting to move from the perfect hold, Sam called out to the only one who would have his back no matter what.

“DEAN.” 

The fight did not last very afterwards. The two graveled on the floor in a competition to gain life. Surprised how long he was able to hold off until he received help, Sam felt it would be a triumph if he were to die in this moment. He felt it would be so right to die in battle and be killed at the hands of an actor. It felt complete. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to accept his death. Dean wouldn’t let it happen. 

The shapeshifter twisted him around, mouth agape and ready to dive in, but it was short lived, when one swift swing of a silver machete decapitated him entirely. Sam let out a yelp of disgust of the spare head falling on top of them. Dean let out a laugh as he helped Sam pull the body on top of him. 

“That’s what you get for going out here by yourself. What in the world were you doing out here, Sammy?” Dean questioned, giving a hand to pull him up. 

“What the hell were you thinking?! You coulda been killed!” John roared from the door. “Get back in the damn house and don’t you move a muscle! You hear me?”

Sam murmured a small, “yessir” and slowly went back inside, defeated. Yet he managed to catch a quick conversation. 

“But Dad, he held him down. He held a shapeshifter down. Who knows how long it was until he called for me. He’s strong, Dad. You gotta give him that.”

“Boy’s gotta learn to kill. Can’t keep him stalling. He’s gotta kill.”  
\---  
John and his eldest son burned the body and looted the rest of the shed for extra supplies, but Dean, in his eighteenth year, was a bit more observant. He found the false drawer. 

“Dad, what is all this?”

John walked over and took a long stare. 

“Always knew Clifford was a damn pansy…”


	4. Sunrise, Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His joy rose and fell like waves that his brother tried to contain like water in a bathtub or a bucket.

September, 1997

The one thing that Sam loved about Dad going on long hunts was that he was enrolled in school. He loved being with people his own age and knowing that all he was expected of was to do his schoolwork. He was treated like a child which was a privilege that he wasn’t always entitled to. It was sad, not going to school with Dean anymore, but he thought it was for the best. He wasn’t in anyone’s shadow anymore, wasn’t anyone’s little brother. He was Sam. 

Another thing that he appreciated greatly was the fact that Dean never pried him on what he did at school every day. He knew not to shell out family information or get too close to anybody and that was it. 

So when Sam went to school on the first day, he felt normal for once in his strange life. He was just a lost sophomore, and due to his soon-to-be-changing height, he could even be mistaken as a lost freshman. 

He went to his classes quietly and secludedly, just as he did with every other school. Blend in, Sam, just blend in, but when he walked past the music wing, he decided to make himself a bit more known. 

Fiddler on the Roof Auditions. Auditorium. 2:15pm. Monday through Wednesday. 

A swift blush rushed to the top of his zygomatics. It was already Tuesday. He had never heard of this musical before, but as he stopped at the flier, he felt compelled to write his name on the audition list for the same day. The worst thing that could happen was that he didn’t get a part. Even if Sam did embarrass himself, it would just be another school in his transcript.

The rest of the school day was spent in anxious wait. His once beloved pre-calculus and history class were demoted to just white noise, playing in the background of his imagination on stage, rethinking back to his Rent fantasies. It was almost a year later, but Sam still whistled the tune to the numbers he remembered faintly. 

When the final bell rang, Sam packed up his notebook in his worn blue backpack and started for auditorium immediately, but as soon as he got to the hallway and saw all the rest of the teens waiting outside of the doors, he slowed his pace and soaked in the anticipation. There wasn’t many moments where he felt the jitters that a kid his age was supposed to feel. This would be a milestone. It’d be like a first kiss or a first date. Something that couldn’t have been make-shifted at Uncle Bobby’s, like a driver’s license. 

“You must be Sam.” 

The chestnut haired teen snapped his attention to the taller one in front of him. He nodded his answer. “How’d you know?”

“You’re the only one I don’t know. Everyone here has been in every show usually. It’s always the same people and to be completely honest, you look a bit lost.” 

Lost? Bitchface, activate. This boy didn’t know Sam from Harry, Tom, or Dick and “to be completely honest”, he didn’t have to take this. Sam knew how to kill this kid in more ways than he could count. He wasn’t lost at all. He had just found what he was looking for. Open up the doors, Mr. Director. Sam Winchester’s coming through. 

As soon as he thought it, the doors swung open and the students started to file in, Sam joining them, ready to take on the audition. 

Well, maybe not Sam. 

“Sam, what the hell? I’ve been trying to find you everywhere! We’ve gotta go.” 

A shoulder grab pulled him back, separating him from the rest of the group. The tall boy from group looked over at the scene the two brothers were starting to create. Sam just gave a courteous wink and waved, slowly exiting the auditorium with his brother. They made their way towards the exit of the school in silence and it wasn’t until the car ride home that Sam had mustered enough strength to speak. 

“He said we were going to be here for months.” 

Dean didn’t know what he had kept Sam from today. He was following his father’s orders. “Get Sam, we’re leaving.” So he did just that, but now, he had felt this unfathomable guilt. Looking over in the passenger seat, he saw the back of his brother’s head, shuddering in the slightest. He wasn’t crying, was he? The kid was fourteen, going on forty and Dean couldn’t do a thing about it. He accepted that many years ago, but for some reason, he still felt like this was his fault. 

He should have told him that he was never going to be normal enough to finish a year of school in the same place, but he had a feeling that Sam already knew.


	5. Weekdays at Bobby’s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His favorite Smiths song was "Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want This Time" because he knew, "Lord knows this would be the first time".

February, 1998

“Take a deep breath and whenever you’re ready.” 

Sam’s stomach expanded as much as it could and sank down into his torso and repeated the action once more. He cleared his throat underneath his hand and began searching for the character that he had associated with the script in his hands. His mouth opened and what fell out was a string of clear, eloquent words, tied together with such energy and purity that left his cheeks stained with a pink flush. 

He hoped it was enough, and just this once, it was.  
\---  
Many grueling months had gone by. Sam had been on his first hunt with Dean, and had his first all out brawl with his father. School had planted the most delicious word Sam had ever been served: college. John, however, disregarded such things. He abandoned that part of his sons’ future, along with their college funds, after Mary’s death. So when the topic came up, John slept out in the Impala that night and by morning, he was gone. 

However Sam still reminisced about what could have been had they stayed in town. He wondered what Fiddler on the Roof was even about. He thought about what songs he would have to sing, the dances he would have to learn, the lines he would have to memorize. He thought about having to stay up late for Dean to come home so he could help him run his lines back and forth, like he did for his anatomy class. Sam sank into his mind when things got very bad, like when the only prize in the end was the silence that seeped within the springs of squeaky stained, motel beds. 

The worst night was when a call home from his guidance counselor outed his admission of their chapter of the National Honor Society. With a, “don’t you even think of calling me” and an emotionally compromised Dean in the passenger seat, it landed him a drop off just outside of Uncle Bobby’s, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.  
\---  
“What took you so long getting home, boy?”

The trained hunter sat at his desk, nose deep in a book of lore, refusing to look up, yet not totally oblivious to the rapidly growing teen that walked through the doorway. Stopping in his tracks, Sam looked anywhere, but his current guardian’s face. 

“I stayed after school today,” He said entirely too fast, his cheeks still flushed from either embarrassment or pride. He had trouble deciphering the two.

“To do what?” 

Sam sighed slightly. He hadn’t figured this part out. There was usually no one who asked where he was and honestly, he didn’t know whether he’d trust Bobby with his love of theater. He might have thought there was something wrong with him. 

“I ain’t got all day.”

Another pause. 

“Listen, Sam. Your daddy ain’t paying me to watch you sneak--”

“I auditioned for a play,” he interrupted. 

It was Bobby’s turn to be silent for once. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. He quirked an eyebrow and turned his full attention to the lanky teen before him.

“Excuse me?” 

“The school’s doing a production of Our Town, so I tried out.” 

Sam tried to not look at Bobby’s face too much. Even just sneaking glances over gave him this overwhelmed feeling of shame. All this thinking that he kept doing, dreaming of what he wanted to be, it was all wasted. It wasn’t anything to look twice at. Sam felt disgusting, like all of those thoughts since he was seven were just molded residue on the side of a New York City dumpster. 

Bobby came round his desk and looked him square in the eye, expression blank. 

“You weren’t gonna tell me?”

Sam swallowed, before responding, “I was planning on it, sir.” 

“Drop the sir. You call me Bobby, ain’t nothing else. Now tell me what you were really doing?” 

His mouth still dry, he replied, “I was trying out for the play, Bobby, I swear.” 

“Ain’t no Winchester ever did a play!” 

An anger brewed in Sam’s stomach. This Winchester did a play and he refused to be ridiculed in such a manner. Not about to lose this argument, he dropped his backpack on the floor and started to sift through the stray papers. 

“The hell are you doing now, boy? Get up off this ground right now and answer me! What’d I got to do to knock some sense into--” 

“She should have died hereafter; / There would have been a time for a such a word-- / Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day / To the last syllable of recorded time; / And all our yesterdays have lighted fools / The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! / Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, / That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, / And then is heard no more: it is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury / Signifying nothing.” 

It wasn’t as powerful as the reading he gave in the auditorium during his audition, but that’s only because he was pleading then. This reading stemmed from anger and rage. The desperation was nonexistent and now was a reminder of the desire that he felt to act. He didn’t even need to do it for the rest of his life, just this once. To feel the stage lights on his skin and to leave everything on the stage, to embody his character whole. He wanted to feel alive because God knows how long he’d be able to do that when he was with his father. 

“It’s not the best monologue, but it’s Shakespeare. Mrs. Lopez says that if you can read this clearly, than anything else is a breeze. I’m not lying to you, Bobby, I swear. J-just let me do this one thing.”

Bobby stood there, gaunt. 

“The rest of the guys said I did good. They couldn’t believe that this was my first audition. I just never know what to do with my hands during readings, but I think I did alright. I know what you’re thinking, but I swear I’ll study more about hunting, too. I’ll stay up later and read a lore book a week or I’ll double up on chores around the house. I’ll even start making dinner for--” 

“When is it,” the elder interrupted. 

“March 28th.” 

“Fine.” 

A shock came over Sam and he had to stop himself before he got too excited. 

“You mean it?” 

“Don’t make me say it again,” the teen was overjoyed, his body feeling warm and light, “on a couple conditions, we don’t tell your father and that grade point average of yours don’t drop.” 

He grabbed onto his hand and began to shake very firmly, almost too firm. 

“Dammit, Sam, calm down. It’s just a play. It better not be one of those fru-fru plays either. I wanna know everything. First comes first, did you even get a part yet?” 

The elation started to go to Sam’s head, taking a small seat on the edge of Bobby’s desk. 

“I’ll just have to wait and see. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day...” 

“Alright, twinkle toes. You said something about making dinner?”  
\---  
The next day Bobby could see Sam running down the road from the door. He laughed to himself, bewildered by his excitement. The hell was going on with this kid? Poor kid didn’t even knew what bit him. Although Sam was John’s son, Bobby knew him longer and knew that this wasn’t going to end well. He was glad to be there for Sam though. He hoped that this was one of the memories that would travel with wherever that Impala would take him. When he was fifteen, his uncle let him be in a school play. That would be fact and no matter what the outcome was, no doubt positive by Sam’s pie-eating grin on his face, he was given the trust of this child to tell him about a part of himself. Bobby was proud. 

He was even prouder when Sam finally got to the door and told him that he got a part in his school play, the hug bounding them as father and son.


	6. Plus One: Their Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He drove all night just to see one star.

March, 1998

Bobby’s call to Dean doesn’t surprise him. It’s been about a month and a half without his little brother, kicking the bottom of his seat from the back or complaining of the music in passenger seat when Dad wasn’t around. It was quiet, just doing the tasks his father wanted him to.

He hated it.

Dean’s life seemed quite dull without someone to protect and be with by his side. Hunting things, saving people were great, but there was no thrill in it if not for his brother. However he wasn’t completely lonely or bored. Obviously there was the pool and the girls he’d meet at bars. Plus, he had the orders of his father that he would never let down. However there was one position that he hadn’t been fulfilling. Protecting his pain-in-the-ass little brother. He knew that he should have fought back for him. Sam was just a kid, he’d come round. That’s what he had said every time and if Sam would just shut his big mouth and let Dean handle it, they definitely wouldn’t be in this situation.

Bobby called though, said he’s got some work for him in town and with Dad out on the other side of the country, he thought it would be worth the overnight drive. 

Pulling up to the junkyard made Dean feel older than he really was. It had been a few months since he last saw inside the place and the nostalgic feeling noted. He walked up to the door and knocked hesitantly, anticipating the growth of his brother and the age on the other hunter’s face. However when the door was opened, there was only one body staring back at him.

“Well I’ll be… He’s alive!” Bobby leaned against the door frame. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Bobby.” 

Bobby let the younger man inside, making idle conversation about what he’d been up to since they’ve last seen each other. Dean looked around of the walls that he used to chase Sam around as a kid. It was only a couple of months gone, but it felt odd. Little things had been shifted or replaced or removed. Sam had obviously made himself at home. His stack of papers, both school related and lore related, occupied a corner of the kitchen table that was in eye-shot of Bobby’s desk. They worked on hunts together in the same room that way. Sam caught things that Bobby had passed over. That same worn blue backpack sat on the couch, a game boy poked out from the top. That was new, too. Perhaps he started getting better at pick-pocketing people or he was finally earning his keep. 

“So, I’ll bite. Where is he,” Dean asked, sitting on the couch with a barely touched beer in hand. He didn’t like drinking when he knew Sammy was around, but it was too quiet for him to be anywhere near the house. 

“He’s back at the school.”

“Still at the school,” Dean asked rhetorically a little too fast paced, an incredulous look on his face deepened wrinkles that he was not supposed to have yet. 

“That’s why I called you down here. I need you to find something out for me. There’s been students at the high school disappearing left and right. I’ve checked and I think there’s an age limit on this thing. It wants youth. That’s why I need you. Sam’s been getting better at hunting, but I don’t feel right just sending him off by himself. Just do your usual rounds and call me if you see anything suspicious.”

Dean was a little more at ease, his muscles relaxed. His face went into submission. He had orders to obey. This is what he usually did, the number one goal. Looking out for Sam was exactly what he needed, something to revolve around. This was a simple, clean job. 

“Alright. So, Sam’s got the students?” 

“You got it.” 

He rose to leave.

“But Dean, he’s changed,” he sank back into the couch like bean bag, dreading those words, “Obviously, height wise and hair length wise, the little bastard won’t let me touch his hair, but that’s not what I’m talkin’ about. Sam’s a good kid. He’s got a real head on his shoulders, but that’s what I’m afraid of. He’s got a good life here, does his work and helps out with mine. I even got him with me fixing up cars. You know the other day, he even brought someone home for dinner.”

Dean rose his eyebrows to that. 

“Don’t worry. He was blind, but that’s the point I’m making. He’s becoming a part of society. He’s one of the good guys who stays after school to tutor someone or makes sure that everyone pulls their weight in a damn science project. The kid’s been going on and on about becoming this lawyer, too! Dean, he’s not a child anymore, but he didn’t grow into a hunter either. He can’t get down with the monsters, not like this and not living in this house. I know your father put him here for a reason, but I don’t think it’s serving the purpose intended. Go tonight. Please do, but for Pete’s sake, don’t judge him. Lord knows how long it’s been since you were running along thinking you were gonna be some rock star.” 

He sank his body into the couch a bit more, feeling like jello. Would he even know what his brother would look like now? Would his brother even want to see him? Dragging a calloused hand down, Dean wiped the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t even want to think of that. He thought of the day they had to leave town. The back of Sam’s head almost bobbing slightly. This was all that he had wanted. He was finally normal and Dean felt like he was just dragging mud on his name by just being in the same building as him. But there was a job and there was still work to be done. So he stood up fast before he could think any more about it and pulled his keys from his pocket. 

“So it’s just down the street and to the left, right?”  
\---  
Dean replayed in his mind what he was going to do once he got to the school. Scan the place, talk to witnesses, and look after Sammy. The golden trio. However upon arrival, he found that there was no place to park. What was going on tonight? Bobby must’ve put him on to something. 

As he walked into the main office, he finally observed a sign of the main event of the evening. 

“John F. Kennedy High School’s Drama Club Presents: Our Town”

Immediately he took out the flip phone his father and him used to call each other back and forth and dialed Bobby’s number. He didn’t have to wait long and something told him that the old man was sitting by the phone. 

“There’s way too many people to do anything. What’d you expect me to do here?” 

There was a slur to the cheeky reply and Dean could almost smell the alcohol through the phone. 

“You’re number C27. It’s reserved under you. Enjoy the show.”

He gave the front of his phone a look that he hoped would somehow teleport to other. 

“You want me to sit through some shitty, high school play with bad acting for what, two and a half hours?” 

“Precisely.” 

Dial tone. Son of a bitch. 

A man of his word, Dean walked up to the counter where ticket sales were going through. He gave the older woman his charismatic smile that made the tension in the room drain and absorb into himself. 

“I have a reservation under Dean Winchester.” 

She pulled under a bundle of tickets of the false money drawer of the tin. The brunette lowered her bifocals a bit more and leaned into what she was skimming. 

“Ah, yes. Here’s your ticket, hun. Just go on through those doors, they’ll tell you where to find your seat.” 

Leaving with a quick thanks, he travelled through to the auditorium doors. A small girl who had to be at least three years younger than his brother handed him a program and squealed out an, “enjoy the show”. A teacher helped him find his seat. He led to the third row, center stage. The teacher inquired, “whoever picked out your seat sure does love you.” 

Looking down at his watch, he realized that he had come at a good time. The lights flickered, signaling for everyone to find their seats. A paranoid Dean had looked around him. There were moms and dads and students and old people. He knew he had to look out of his element, in his dad’s old brown leather jacket and his hair spiked up in the front. Perhaps if he’d do something that everyone else was doing, it would distract them or even himself from not belonging. 

He skimmed the program. The sign out in the front of the school was the same on the front cover. Inside, there was a description of the show, how the acts were broken up, and even the note from the director stating how nice it was getting to know each members of the cast and how hard they worked. However on the next page, he found something worth sinking his teeth into. 

The cast list was filled with as many nobody’s that Dean would have expected. He did not, however, expect his brother to be peaking on the end of the list. 

The lights went down as soon as everything clicked. 

Before he could wrap his head around anything, the director stood at the edge of the apron of the proscenium stage started his introduction to the show and gestured towards the exits in case of an emergency. 

Dean no longer wanted to read the program, but to see the show. His brother was there and had gone through all this work just make sure that he saw this show. Sam had Bobby lure him in, knowing full well he wouldn’t back down from a hunt. He probably bought the ticket weeks prior. How many moms had been pissed at him for not letting them get that perfect Kodak moment in that seat? Dean should have bought a disposable one or some flowers. That’s what he had done for that chick he was dating back in Florida. Whatever the matter was, he was there. Sam could look out into that seat and see him and know that his brother was there to support him through everything, even his once guilty pleasures and Dean would, no matter what. 

The lights went down once more and then came back up again, a spotlight starting the show.   
\---  
He was Sam, but he was… tall. With pipe in hand, his face had lengthened and his hair was pushed back and swept to the side hidden under a fedora, but Dean could tell it had grown by the tufts of hair peeking out. Expression read serious, like a faint blue steel had glistened in his face. Was this his character or was this the change that Bobby had mentioned? 

“This,” his baritone voice thick, serious and informative, “is a play called ‘Our Town’. It was written by Thornton Wilder, produced and directed by…” 

The young actor crossed stage right and Dean’s eyes stayed glue on his lapels. They stayed there until he left the stage, forced to watch the other children play pretend. No lie, the pantomiming by the characters were totally not Dean’s style and he found it a little odd. Sam didn’t though and that was pretty much all that mattered.

The most entrancing part was when Sam stayed back, watching the scene as it unfolded. He pointed his forehead forward, the caveman look. Becoming stiff, he shifted positions, folding his arms and directed his chin to the ceiling. Hazel eyes scanned the scene before him, locking into the town of Grover’s Corners and stepping in only to introduce characters and set the stage. He remained casual, but there was a solemness behind the roll of his tongue. He swallowed it, savoring the taste of life. Sam knew something that Dean didn’t and there he was, standing there on stage playing God, watching and waiting.

The plot of Our Town wasn’t exactly enticing. It was a picture of a lifetime and Sam gave the frame. So when he allowed for the audience to “have a smoke”, the lights went up and Dean pondered to himself. He heard the slight murmuring of people next to him. 

“Oh, Johnny looks good!”

“Sarah missed a line. I could tell. You totally see it in her eyes”

But Dean knew. His brother put so much work into his delivery of each line. The mere chance of his brother seeing him on stage led Sam to spew out his character. Not once did his face drop. He was engaged fully within the performance of his other cast members. Dean dared anyone to criticize him. 

The next two acts finally build some plot. So much that when Sam is delivering his last monologue, Dean was completely entranced. 

"Only this one is straining away, straining away all the time to make something of itself." 

There was the embodiment of Sam Winchester in one line. All this time, just crying out to be a singular being, not part of a family. Dean watched him bloom on his own with the friends he had made, the things that he had accomplished, and the life he had made. His palms sweated as if he was sinning from his seat. 

When Sam told the audience to get some rest, they remained silent until he left the stage and the lights dropped out.

Then, they roared. 

House lights going up, bows began from minor character to major character. When the main characters, Emily and George, came out hand in hand, a standing ovation occurred, Dean still sat. It was only until his brother walked out last and took off his hat to bow that Dean stood up. Lost in the jungle of community theater crowds, he couldn't make himself known and he was forced to wait. 

The curtain closed and there was a whole lot of "excuse me's" and "coming through's" before Dean could make it as far as he could to the door to wait for the cast to come out. When the doors finally erupted, the cast shot straight through, full of post play adrenaline. Sam even passed him, greeted with congratulations from supporting parents. Dean took a seat on a bench, realizing this would take awhile. 

Finally the lobby cleared out. The hype went down. Sam waved to the last few people. The cast also disappearing, Sam also did the same, going back to the dressing room. However Dean was patient and stood right outside. 

"You look like a painted whore with that blush on your cheeks."

"Dean..."

"Sam," he answered matter-of-factly. 

"Listen, I know that this isn't--"

"This isn't what? My speed? I drove a day and half for this."

Sam sucked his bottom lip in, trying to hide his guilt. He didn't know exactly what to say to that. He wasted Dean's time. Time that shouldn't be spent on frilly shit like this. Sam wasted his own time. All that planning to his brother to see him and for what? This?

"Hey, ground control to Major Tom. Look at me," Dean stepped forward and turned Sam's head towards his, "this isn't my thing, alright, with the miming and the makeup and the costume stuff, but that's not the point. It's your thing. The last time I saw you, you were just this smart kid and this hunter, but you weren't happy. You've got a future, but more than just the family business. In acting or I heard paralegal, whatever you want. I drove my ass off to inadvertently watch you do your thing and I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"This means you want me to hunt again, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter if I want you to! Don't you get it, Sammy? What do you want to do? You've got so many options." 

Sam leaned off of the wall and paced, thinking. 

"Well one, let's get something to eat. I'm starving," they laughed, "two, it's good to see you again, Dean. I may not've stayed a hunter, but I want back in with limits. Classes, tutors, at least something while we're on the road."

Dean smiled. "I'll see it done. Now, how bout a burger?" He ruffled Sam's his hair and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. 

"Sounds good, Dean. Sounds really good...".


End file.
